I remember the look of confusion upon your face when I said, "Mother, I have a problem."
It was innocent, it was simple, it was not expecting.

"Mom, I make myself throw up."
"But I don't understand why? Just look at how thin you are."
"I see that, mom, trust me, I see it.

But I also see you.
I see you getting surgery after surgery when you were just like me before.
I see you take pill after pill to achieve what you believe is beauty.
I see you judge others.
I see you want to become others.
I hear you tell me that I'll end up the same way if I don't take care of myself;
this is what I'm doing, mom.
I'm taking care of myself so that I can fit your standards.
I look into the mirror and see myself as good enough.
Then I look into your eyes and see that it's a lie.

You say that when a child is hurt it is the mothers fault.
She should've been paying attention.

Mom, I am hurt.
*Please help me.